Help Me Make it Through the Night
by youngandj
Summary: But Derek only fumbled with his hands as he deliberately lay beside the girl on her bed, a forbidden territory that even he knew he was restricted from. Derek/Casey oneshot


Disclaimer: I do not own Life With Derek.

A/N: This story is not connected to any episodes. It is a oneshot.

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- Help Me Make it Through The Night -

It started after the girl died, a girl whom the boy loved so much. It was an accidental auto collision. She had been crossing the intersection, and it was a Mac truck that did her in. It happened on a Thursday.

The boy had cried for the first time in his life, but he showed no one his emotions. He only dutifully wore his suit attire and attended the funeral with matted hair from the drizzling rain outside. He talked to no one. His demeanor had changed then. He was thin, losing weight as if food no longer appealed to him in some way. He wasn't even a boy then, nor was he a boy when he was young. But he was no man. He had wrinkles in his aging face and bags under his eyes. He hadn't been a boy for a long time. His name was Derek.

It was three weeks after when the boy began to go on a rampage to wipe away his discomforts. Three weeks after in the cold, rainy season of winter. Derek had tried to squander his attempts at fading memories, but he had failed miserably on his account. No, he desperately sought refuge in one thing that he felt he had any control in.

And Casey was his target. Casey, who knew nothing but Derek's constant annoying jeers, had lied in bed one night during a vicious thunderstorm, clutching onto her sheets for security. When Derek had entered her room, she had not known that he had been pacing frantically about his own room, sweat beads forming on his forehead. Casey was only confused as Derek made feeble excuses to reside in her room, but she wanted to deny his access for they were understood the rules of the common household and above all, they understood their attitude with each other.

But Derek only fumbled with his hands as he deliberately lay beside the girl on her bed, a forbidden territory that he even knew he was restricted from. When Casey was about to protest, Derek laid on top of her, kissing her furiously and passionately, and Casey grew startled and frightened. When Derek released her from his outburst, he began to weep. He called out a name in the darkness. When Casey shifted uncomfortably in her position of losing control, Derek whispered, At least can you help me make it through the night?

So Casey felt as though she could do nothing but cradle the boy's head in her arms. Only then was Derek allowed the sweet peace of slumber as he felt Casey's steady heartbeat in his ears. When they awoke in the morning, it was still raining outside. It was awkward as Derek retreated cautiously, mumbling his apologies. It was the only time he had ever stayed till morning back then, for that was not his style. The night after, Casey didn't expect him. She believed the worst had come to pass. But that night, Derek returned in a dazed stupor, in silence and in brooding. In quiet tears and in frustrations, he began in his similar routine as the previous night with further advances.

If anything, he claimed dominance. He kissed her gently and roughly as if challenging her to take him apart. But when she only lied there quietly and still, not moving so much as a muscle, she was basically underlining an invitation for Derek to continue. So feeling no resistance, he overtook her for lack of feeling. In the end, the beads of sweat had returned but for different reasons. But it was not Casey's name Derek called out in the dark. It was not Casey he was yearning for.

For Derek was never soft with Casey's body, not once. He lusted for her and took her, only replacing her name with that of another. Over and over again, he had only someone else's name and image on his mind. And Casey only lie there, letting him take her, feeling him inside of her, his pain, his frustration, his anxieties. And she said nothing.

Every night, Casey waited for him, patiently, understandingly. She never resisted him nor defended herself against his antics. By day, the two kept each other at arm's distance, never so much as slipping one word between each other or stealing even forlorn, weary glances. Derek remained preoccupied, and Casey stayed busy as not to prolong their continuous trysts from night till morning. For when Casey awoke in the morning, Derek was gone. But he always returned for her in the night, and it never once stopped raining during those brief moments.

It wasn't that Derek changed. No, it was more that he kept himself locked away from the world so his anger and his bitterness overstepped their boundaries. And it wasn't that Casey changed. No, she was only accepting what she believed to be the only way to alleviate Derek from his pain. She wanted to feel those callused hands running all over her body, as if he was claiming her for himself alone. She brooded for him, and he knew this only too well. It was never right, but in the end she was all that he had.

But one night when Derek had come and was about to leave, Casey pulled him back, his muscles taut, her breath short. She only said one word. Stay. Derek only tried to breathe and pulled away, because it was real then. He stumbled off the bed while Casey's smooth hands slipped off him. Derek did not return the next night or the night after that. Weeks passed, and Casey's room became sullen and gloomy, the rain beating on the roof endlessly.

Derek was sad, the words spread around the household. Derek was sad. Of course Derek was sad. He had always been sad, but that wasn't the point. This sadness had nothing to do with the funeral. It was a strange sadness, a sickness some would say. On those nights he sat the edge of his bed calling out to no one, I miss you, I miss you. It was an external display of his sorrow, one that anyone could see. But he said nothing to Casey. She didn't expect him to.

But at the early hours of the morning when she entered Derek's private suffering, he did not seem surprised. With his back turned to her and his head facing the window of splattered raindrops, he spoke in a small, unfamiliar voice. I can't stay. But Casey took one of his trembling hands in hers and said, You used me. He looked away from this. I did.

She then unexpectedly leaned into him, wrapped her arms around him, and said, I'll help you make it through the night. When the night had passed, Derek had risen quickly, prepared to leave, as was his routine. But when he opened his eyes and yawned, he realized he was still in his own room with its posters and records plastered on his walls. He felt the quiet breathing of the girl beside him who didn't stir.

In the morning their bodies were intertwined with each other, their arms wrapped around each other, their legs entangled each other. Casey had tried to separate from him almost instantly with embarrassment, but Derek held onto her arm. Stay, he said to her.

Stay.


End file.
